


Heartbeats

by Marquise



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post-Canon, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 18:22:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1754023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marquise/pseuds/Marquise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's come home to her. The circle can now be closed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heartbeats

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Round Two of Smutty Westeros, for the prompt: _The last time Cersei and Jaime are together (give me all your angst!)_

Westeros was ashes but Westeros was at rest. The land was destroyed beyond reckoning, the order that was forming in its wake new and old alike—something Cersei had not seen in her lifetime but a reflection of the past, almost. The air now had a kind of haze about it, as if one had stepped back into a song. The land had bleed tearing itself apart and, now wounded, each kingdom attended to its own needs.  
  
Ironic that Jaime found her then. Jaime who had been wounded and torn from her, Jaime who she had not felt for some time. Westeros was in shreds, violently torn into separate pieces, and here she was reunited with herself.   
  
She had returned to Casterly Rock a figure of tightly bound rage, thrown out of Kings Landing just before the Blackwater ran red, just before it all broke like sand against a wave. She watched it from afar; her eyes dry, the life gone from her. It all had that particularly unique pain that came from something long feared finally coming to pass, that ache of the inevitable.   
  
And it was in this state, somewhere between life and death, that he found her.   
  
Once again he had returned to her dirty and unkempt. The road had not been an easy one, though Cersei was glad to see he was as physically intact as he had been when he left. Still, his face was gaunt and his clothes were well-soiled from travel and he stank. In King’s Landing she would have pushed him aside, would not have taken him until he had refashioned himself, but so much had changed since then. Now when he came to her reeking of the road she smelt him underneath it all.   
  
They didn’t speak and that comforted her. Despite all that had happened, despite the shifts of persona, they did not need to speak to each other. And that fact roused her—when he took her in his arms, the press of his one hand tight against her back, she felt tears streak her cheeks for the first time in ages.   
  
His lips were on her next, his beard scratching the skin as they both worked at her gown, tearing away silk. Cersei had her eyes shut, her mouth forming his name but no sound coming out. She didn't struggle to speak, for what would that have proven? That she needed him? Surely he knew that. The sounds of silk and heavy breathing filled the large, dusty hall, and her body’s response to him was clear enough. She was wet, more amorous than she had been in ages, her body needy in a way it hadn't been since that time in the Sept. Grief had infused all her movements then, grief chased by some relief at being reunited, and it was present here in this cavernous hall.   
  
“ _Fuck_ ,” he rasped between clenched teeth as his fingers found her slick cunt; she has pressed herself back against the wall, the heavy stone scrapping at her skin, the pain akin to pleasure thanks to their heightened state. The curse sounded sweeter than ever on his lips, lips that soon enough were on her own, tearing at her, not giving her a chance to breathe. The press of his cock was heavy and obscene against her thigh, the obviousness of his need repairing her pride (she had not truly noticed how broken it was until that moment.) Cersei laughed sharply into his bloodied lips, her own hands tearing at his laces, not caring if her nails tore into him. He was hers,  _this_  was hers, and she would make that known.   
  
His cock was familiar, her fingers gripping about the shaft in a practiced gesture. She pulled back slightly to look down on him, down on her Jaime. He was so wounded and changed but not, his face a shabby imitation of what it had been before, but his manhood in her hand was all too familiar. The slick between her legs, the beating of her heart—they had played at this too many times before, it had made up the fabric of her life for as long as she could remember.   
  
Cersei squeezed him once, enjoying the slight break that shadowed his face at that moment. She could work him over for hours if she wished, draw him out and deny him again and again, till he was begging her to let him fuck her. They had done that many times before, played at the need that they kept so closely guarded, but to do so now was out of the question. She needed him between her legs, where he belonged. Perhaps there would be time for leisure again, but now that need was pressing and the idea of waiting seemed absurd.   
  
One hand still on his cock she threaded the other into his shirt, raking her nails down from his neck as she did so. Jaime pressed himself forward, the head of his cock against her lips, parting her slightly. She was open, wet, and ready for him and yet he was still looking at her, taking her in before taking her completely. She pulled at his shirt, pressed her palm flat against the linen, flat against his skin.   
  
His heartbeat was the same.   
  
Strange that she focused on that seemingly minor detail when all around them was breaking, constructing and breaking again, when he’s returned to her and ready to have her against the wall of their home. Cersei took a shuddering breath as she pressed against him and in that moment he filled her, his hand gripping her no longer taunt flesh with such force that she knew she will come from this marked. The sound of his heart was so deafening, so in synch with hers that she could focus on nothing else. His heartbeat was the same and she’s crying, hot tears running down that long-dried face. Her lips are opening and closing, his name a whisper that seemed to fill the room.   
  
“ _Yes,_ ” he responded as he thrust against her, pushing her back against the wall, rutting with all the elegance of an animal. He kept repeating this word as she said his name, his cock a familiar stretch against her walls, their bodies slick where they were joined. Cersei moved her arms around his back, around his neck, holding on as he took her. She could still feel his heart against her breasts.   
  
The slickness built rapidly, her own muscles pulling him in, squeezing around him, the exquisite ache of it all causing her toes to curl, her legs pushed up against his back. Perhaps it was foolish to do this here, but at the moment she felt nothing, heard nothing beyond Jaime and the sound of them as one. He was hot between her legs, the blood rushing to where they were connected. Her lips were wet around him, the movement of his hips causing the right bit of friction to press against the nub just above her cunt. Her body was taunt, Jaime was where he belonged but it was not enough—with some maneuvering Cersei was able to drag a hand down to where they were joined and her fingers, quickly wet, begin to coax out her own pleasure, quickening her release.   
  
He was grunting against her neck, wordless expressions of need that to her sounded sweeter than any speech of devotion because he was here, he was hers, and as her hands dug into his flesh she knew that nothing would ever change that. They had been apart for too long.   
  
She came then, the feeling sharp. She had been pent up for too long and she had almost forgotten what it was like to have him like this, to be filled with him as she collapsed all around, pulling his cock into her with each movement, trembling in his arms with a weakness she dared not show anyone else. And, on cue, Jaime followed her, as he always did. She could feel the heat as he emptied into her, muffling his cries against her shoulder. She knew he wished to bite into her neck but he didn’t, even in this moment restraining himself from allowing any obvious signs of their coupling.   
  
But the evidence was all around. Her clothes were ruined by sweat; his seed dripping obscenely down her thighs when he pulled away even slightly. His fingers had marked every clothed part of her; her nails had dug into his flesh, creating new wounds of battle. Their hair—both of it far too short for her liking—was matted against their heads, darkened by sweat.   
  
He pulled away, just far enough to look her in the eye. Their eyes had never truly changed, not as the rest of them had, and while that was comforting there was something still shocking about seeing her Jaime’s gaze in that face.   
  
He pulled out completely and continued to hold her, catching his breath. His heartbeat was no longer in synch with hers, their bodies cooling at different rates, and that’s when she knew for certain that this would be the last time.   
  
Nothing was said. Their end, she always knew, would be unspoken, would be felt more than voiced. She felt it now, holding him close. The weariness, the emptiness she had felt before still hung about her, pressing against her. Having him inside her had been only a brief reprise and now the future must be faced. There would be no escape. Jaime had not come to save her from this, but rather to close to circle. To join her in the end.   
  
She curled her nails as hard as possible into his side. When she closed her eyes she saw him pressing the life from her, her own hand choking him, something shaper than her nails taking him in the side. They would remain like this, she could see, until both of their hearts stopped—first her own, and then Jaime’s. It felt right, it felt certain.   
  
In the present Jaime sucked in a breath, her nails causing pain, a precursor of what was to come, but she kept going. She buried her face in his neck, inhaled his scent. Everything from here on out would be darker, the end of their time swiftly approaching, their world closing around them. She knew it would, she felt the end in him just as sharply as she had felt the life.   
  
And it didn’t matter. He was home.


End file.
